


A Chosen One By Any Other Name

by Dibleopard



Series: Decoy, Prophesied [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker is Not the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One, Gen, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Movie: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Chosen One, Young Anakin Skywalker, and im just making it worse :), but as far as everyone is concerned, its a decoy see, obi-wan is getting far too much responsibility dumped on his shoulders, skeevy sheev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibleopard/pseuds/Dibleopard
Summary: “Whether or not the child really is the Chosen One as Qui-Gon believed is irrelevant. What matters is whether or not everybodythinkshe is the Chosen One."The title of Chosen One brings with it the sort of attention you wouldn't want on a nine-year-old. Obi-Wan Kenobi is the obvious choice to replace him in the line of fire.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Series: Decoy, Prophesied [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189607
Comments: 33
Kudos: 112





	A Chosen One By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I wrote this in a day it came to me this morning but I really like the idea so I'm going with it.  
> This'll be a series because the stuff I'm thinking of may be too disconnected (and too out of order) to be chapters. Also if you came here from my other stuff I promise I'll get to it I just have problems with getting flashes of creativity.

“Whether or not the child really is the Chosen One as Qui-Gon believed is irrelevant. What matters is whether or not everybody _thinks_ he is the Chosen One. To have such a legend overshadowing his every move will put him at a disadvantage and will draw attention from forces we don’t yet know.”

“The Sith?”

“If they really have returned, then it is likely, but there will also be interested parties where you least expect it, with machinations we aren’t in a position to truly understand.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stopping himself from jerking at the absence of his braid shifting with the movement. His feet hurt from standing for hours at the funeral but the alcove that Master Windu had pulled him into had no seating nearby. “How do you propose we solve this issue?”

“Whispers of the Chosen One have been circulating since Qui-Gon made his claims in the Temple last week, and after his recent achievements the Council believes that it would be difficult to erase the rumours completely. Especially since Skywalker himself knows.”

Qui-Gon hadn’t been known for his subtlety, and Anakin struck him as the sort of boy who would latch onto any sense of self-importance thrown his way after a life of slavery. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite blame him – he himself held onto as many of Qui-Gon’s compliments and words of praise as his memory allowed. Nevertheless, such grand destinies were paths to egocentricity and arrogance and Obi-Wan feared himself unequipped to temper them.

Master Windu continued, “Master Yoda and I have considered the options and we have arrived at a proposal to you: you take on the title of Chosen One. Redirect the attention. As far as everyone who has any investment is concerned, your defeat of the Sith assassin was the proof we needed to confirm that _you_ are the Jedi of prophecy, not Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan found himself at a loss for words. _Him?_ How would anybody be convinced that he was anywhere near good enough to be the Chosen One? “And what about Anakin?” he asked.

“Skywalker simply has an unusually high midichlorian count, much like Master Yoda. Such power could _only_ be trained by the Chosen One. That’s if you still want to take him on as your padawan.”

“Oh, ye- yes, of course, of course I do,” he murmured, trying to wrap his mind around it all. Training Anakin was not a question, but stringing along the Order, the Senate, the Galaxy in this self-aggrandising deception was so ridiculous that he wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t some sort of test. “But what if he _is_ the Chosen One?”

“Then he can get on with fulfilling the prophecy without anyone trying to sway him from his path for their own gain. Having a title does not a Chosen One make. Besides, even without the prophecy, he’s still one of the most Force-sensitive people on our records; he won’t exactly be starved of reputation.”

Intricate moulding decorated the wall behind Master Windu, but Obi-Wan’s eyes were drifting beyond it as he tried and failed to solidify the nebulous thoughts orbiting within his head.

“I’m not sure I’m…” he scrambled for a word that wouldn’t make his concerns sound irrational, “... capable of living up to the expectations of the title, even as a decoy.”

If this was a test, he should have passed it with his humble concern. If it wasn't, he hadn’t declined the orders of the highest-ranking Jedi on the Council, simply urged them to reconsider.

Unfortunately, Master Windu already seemed resolved on the matter. “Who else can say that they’ve successfully defeated a Sith? Even Yoda can’t claim that much; you’re the first in a thousand years. Quite the qualification.”

He dropped a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the one that his braid had once covered, “We understand that you may need time to think about it. Preferably, we’d start our rumours at the parade tomorrow so try to get your answer to us by noon. May the Force be with you, Knight Kenobi.”

“And with you, Master,” he replied as he was left alone in the dimly lit guest halls of Theed Palace.

**…**

Obi-Wan woke with the sun, which fortunately rose at a civilised time of morning at this time of year at Theed. Anakin, unused to the way interplanetary travel interfered with one’s circadian rhythm, was still asleep after Obi-Wan had showered and dressed, although perhaps it was exhaustion after his taxing week.

The boy ate his breakfast in his sleeping clothes, feet swinging under his chair, blond hair in noticeable disarray. He looked up and caught Obi-Wan staring. “Aren’t you going to have anything?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “No. Maybe later.”

“You can have some of mine,” offered Anakin, nudging his plate of toast towards Obi-Wan’s empty place at the small table. One piece had several bites missing, but that was hardly an issue for people in situations like Anakin’s – or parents used to children insisting on trying food they barely ate, as Obi-Wan had learnt on several missions during his apprenticeship. He wondered if he too would have to eliminate any aversion to sharing germs. Perhaps he was already there, because his stomach objected more to the thought of food than what had been done to it.

“I’m not hungry, Anakin, you have it. I can get some later.”

Anakin shrugged, “If you say so.”

Time passed and Obi-Wan found himself staring again, although he was seeing very little. Anakin was regarding him out of the corner of his eyes as he finished his breakfast.

“I think,” Obi-Wan began, earning himself full attention, “Once you’ve finished we should sort out your hair.”

Anakin nodded slowly, confusion written on his face.

“It’s traditional for padawans to have a certain haircut. Short,” he gestured to his own hair, “And with a padawan braid,” his hand tried to grab it but met air, resulting in an awkward miming that he aborted quickly.

“Like yours?”

He nodded mutely.

 _“Wizard,”_ said Anakin before crumpling his final half-slice of toast into his mouth in a terrifying display and asking, “Can we do it now?” through a spray of crumbs.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Obi-Wan stood and took the dishes. “Yes, yes, I suppose so. I’ll need to go and find some clippers, though.”

“Can I come with you?” Anakin was bouncing on his toes, suddenly invigorated out of the morning’s sleepiness. 

“You’re hardly dressed to venture the Palace halls, are you?”

“I might be!”

“No. I’ll get them, you stay here and take a shower.”

“But I just had one yesterday!”

Obi-Wan tugged on his boots. “And you’ll have one today; you need to be presentable. If you don’t want to use the water, there’s a sonic right next to it.”

Anakin sighed, long-sufferingly, as Obi-Wan moved out of the door.

“I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes; I want you clean by then.”

Was this what his life was to become? A negotiation for every benign task, another mouth to feed, another life to look after? He had only got _himself_ out of bed on autopilot, his mind weighing heavy and lethargic with grief. His life had changed irrevocably in a thousand tiny ways in the space of a week – and in a few massive ways in the space of a day. The tide of it all was too strong to ignore, it would crash down on him eventually, but for now there were things to do, and he let the distractions buoy him like driftwood.

He was barely halfway down the hall when he was intercepted by the newly-elected Chancellor Palpatine.

“Ah, Master Jedi, I was just coming to see you and young Skywalker. I do hope your accommodations were satisfactory.”

Obi-Wan plastered a diplomat’s smile on his face, “Of course, your excellency, it was more than we would dream of asking.”

“Not at all, Padawan Kenobi. Rather, it was the least the Queen and myself could offer to the heroes of Naboo.” Chancellor Palpatine’s face was friendly and his eyes smiled with the rest of him, but there was an undercurrent that Obi-Wan couldn’t place. “Tell me, is there anything you were searching for out here? You aren’t expected at the parade until this afternoon.”

“I was just looking for some hair clippers, nothing quite of your station, Chancellor.” He grinned the way one did while trying to make polite jokes at a political function and Palpatine’s smile remained even as he turned to walk beside him, hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I’m sure we can find something that will be of use to you.”

“Oh, there’s no need–”

“Nonsense, my boy. I’ll admit I’ve been wanting to talk to you and young Skywalker since yesterday, but it didn’t seem to be the time.”

“Is that so?” He noticed the way his voice had already been subdued by grief at even a vague mention of Qui-Gon’s death. It was unbecoming. He cleared his throat.

“Why, of course,” replied Palpatine, steering him into an indistinguishably ornate room, “I have much to thank you for. As well as, of course–” and here he sighed sadly while investigating the various drawers– “to enquire about your thoughts on this… assassin who hunted the Queen and infiltrated the palace without so much as an alarm to alert us of his presence”

Perhaps he should have thought the topic of the Sith to be inevitable, but it hit him in the lungs to hear it spoken about as if it was little more than an abnormal security concern. _Sith_ was a word to be whispered. It was perfectly constructed to be hissed in low voices. They had grown complacent in the Sith’s absence, used the word loudly, as curses and insults. Obi-Wan knew that once he was back in the Temple, it would be relegated back to whispers, at least for as long as it took for people to forget this time on Naboo, so distant from their lives and yet already a fulcrum of his.

Palpatine didn’t say Sith, so neither would he.

“We know very little, unfortunately. It was a Force-user trained in lightsaber combat. It was dark. Powerful.”

A contemplative nod, then, “Do you think he was targeting the Queen specifically? Is she in danger of further attacks?”

“It’s hard to say; his motives were unclear. He was easily distracted by Jedi both times he appeared, and both times the Jedi and Queen Amidala were together. Perhaps he intended for her to die, perhaps he was after us all along and she simply happened to be with us.”

“Do you think he could have been targeting the boy?”

Obi-Wan looked up sharply, but Palpatine was still searching through drawers, clattering their contents about. “What?”

“I’ve heard young Skywalker must be rather special to be accepted into the Order at such an old age, and he is obviously rather talented to destroy the Trade Federation’s command station almost single-handedly.”

“He’s certainly special,” he conceded.

“There are rumours,” Palpatine continued, “That he is to fulfil an old Jedi prophecy. ‘The Chosen One’, I believe the term was.”

Frozen, Obi-Wan realised what the undercurrent beneath Palpatine’s good-naturedness was: silence. It was hard to place, hard to define, hard to be sure of, but the sinking certainty in Obi-Wan’s throat confirmed it. There was not necessarily anything wrong with silence, but there definitely wasn’t anything right either.

“Ah, here it is,” declared Palpatine, raising some clippers into the air. He handed it to Obi-Wan, who couldn’t help but meet his eyes too intensely to be polite. Already, the words were spilling off his tongue, a night of anxious insomnia behind them, slowed to an audible speed only by a decade of practice.

“I’m afraid the rumours have been rather tangled, Chancellor.”

“How so, Padawan Kenobi?”

“Knight Kenobi,” he gritted out, “And it’s because Anakin is not the Chosen One. I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man this is gonna end well.


End file.
